


fever dreaming

by NerumiH



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Between the prologue and the first Five boss battle, Five POV, Gen, some real Zero fanaticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerumiH/pseuds/NerumiH
Summary: The fantasies flutter against Five's skin: bring Zero home. Sit her here. Show her a pet you’ve preened into obedience, and all you’ve built with your bare hands.Everyone loves you here.Can Zero love you, too?- In which Zero is cutting her way through the Land of Seas and a queen has to make the decision to throw open her doors and answer.





	fever dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> i love the dissonance between Five at the start of the game, and Five once she's resurrected - and Five from the novella. i love sheeeee.

**.invitation.**

Five used to daydream about big sister Zero coming back.

She’d be gorgeous as ever, in that gauzy white dress, bow perched, deceptively coquettish, in her hair, that wicked slash of pink in her eyes. She was born to scowl, but Five’s determined that in the long year of waiting, she’d have clued in that getting frown lines wasn’t going to do her any good.

She’d have smartened up.

Five would show her new ways to do her hair. Makeup to draw a sexiness to her pout, black paint showing off the alluring potential of the sharpness inside her. She’d recline with her, here, on this red velvet divan in her parlour, and they’d gossip and laugh.

She’d have realised that her sisters were right and strong and good and she would _listen._

So it’s weird, then, that the most she can say when the captain tells her the Intoner is in her lands, is “Oh, my.”

Doing Zero’s hair and painting her nails and showing her the village _she_ saved and _she_ built with Zero on her arm, cooing when appropriate: these fragments of wishes flutter wildly like torn threads.

Dito, standing behind her, has stopped tugging threads of her hair out from under her necklace.

He asks, “She another sister of yours?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “She’s _very_ different from me, though. I don’t think you’d like her.”

The captain presses, “My Lady? What is our next move?”

Five swallows. Lifts herself, unbothered, from her recline, as if she’s emerging from a bath. She idly fluffs her hair. And snags one of those fantasies before it can entirely fly away, and tucking it away, says primly, “Well – _duh_? Slow her approach. Send more men, and all your cannons.”

**.venue.**

Five wants to get a look at her.

The soldiers refuse to let her leave the palace, and that’s okay, she likes the flattery – sometimes a girl just wants to be treated like a delicate, prized bit of perfection. But she still desperately wants to know something about Zero besides how the war room discusses her, a little token on a map, heedless and knocking down every obstacle they set up.

Five’s mind is stuck: _tell me what she looks like._

But no word comes back. Five only knows her sister’s progress by what camps go silent.

The crazy bitch is efficient.

A week into Zero’s approach, Five is tightening Dito’s belt back up – she couldn’t help it, he just looks so cute in this light armour – and explaining herself over again: “Don’t let her see a single, cute little inch of you. They’ll release the Gigas on her, so hopefully she’ll be pretty occupied, and you can get a good look. Then as _soon_ as you can, scurry straight back.”

Dito lazily folds his hands behind his head. Looks down at her, lifting an eyebrow. Still the spot of a flush that hasn’t yet receded around his jaw. “I dunno, Five. Being on that psycho’s side sounds like a pretty sweet deal. Maybe I’ll show up on your doorstep with her.”

Wouldn’t that be something? Zero, sane and sensible, meeting the people that made Five’s house a home. Her staff and maids, her footmen and cooks. Dito, acid-tongued but tasting sweet when he breaks under her teeth. The fantasies flutter against her skin, licking and eager: bring Zero home. Sit her here. Show her a pet you’ve preened into obedience, and all you’ve built with your bare hands.

Everyone loves you here.

Can Zero love you, too?

Five gets to her heels, towering over Dito. She grips his jaw. Pulls his head up when he tries to disinterestedly look away, and holds him until the stubborn hate in his face fades. She combs her fingers through the scalding waves of it, breaking him open and raw, and she murmurs in syrupy music, “You will not interact with her. You will come back to me.”

She lets him go. His gold eyes refocus, a tide washing in. She knows that he’s aware when she does that, but she also knows he can’t always find what she planted in him. Her suggestion is very powerful.

Five kisses his cheek. “Now, go! Run, bunny, run.”

He comes back in three days (good, Zero’s further than Five thought), and Five insists on hearing it all as she scrubs the grime and dust from his skin, sunk in the golden tub. She makes dripping tracks in the ring of dirt around his neck, where his collar started.

He explains where the troops are stationed. Morale is low. She silently promises to sing a few encouraging songs to the troops.

“They dumped the Gigas on the beach.” Dito rests his arms on the edges of the tub, back to her. His knees are up, breaching the dark water like icecaps. “She took it down faster than you did. Way faster. And the troops are bottlenecking themselves all the way up the valley. Freakin’ hilarious if you ask me. Seeing them crawl back over their buddies’ corpses to get away from her…really something.”

Five smears her hand around the back of his neck to clean away the dust. “She was always _so_ ferocious, my big sister. I expected that. But did you get a good look at _her?_ ”

Dito shrugs. Her thigh, bent around him, brushes his hip and a line of muscle goes taut up his side. Always so sensitive. The last thing she wants is for him to think too hard about all the carnage and get all upset, so she makes a note, walking her fingers down the bubbles of spine under his skin, to put his mind on other things – once she gets her answer.

He says, “White hair, scrappy dress? Some sort of cape thing. I thought that was weird, til I figured out it was hiding something. One of her arm’s completely mechanical.”

Five pauses. They thought Zero was dead, until One warned them to not give up. Never forget her. Remember her standing there in the courtyard, Michael’s shadow flooding over her, blade shining in her hand, wickedness at her lips. “ _You let her come back unnoticed and she’ll destroy everything you’ve built.”_

Zero would ruin everything. Something in her, as ferocious and alive as any greed or lust or bliss, _knew that._

But so much time had gone by. She’d had the time to sew all those fantasies.

She lifts Dito’s hand from the water. His nails are broken and filthy. She massages water between his fingers.

Dito says, “Oh, yeah. And she’s got some gnarly shit growing out of her eye.”

“Oh? Do you know what it was?”

“A flower, I think.”

Her nails dig into his hand. He swears, but she doesn’t let go. A flower. That rattles something inside her, a wind through a long-unwalked hall, shuddering the curtains and toying at the locks.

– the tremor passes.

A flower? That’s just _tacky_.

**.guest list.**

A day later, Five has decided to decorate.

If Zero’s going to see the place anyways, she may as well impress her. She’s not the airheaded bimbo her sisters all thought she was. Now, she’s a queen. She’s earned the name Intoner and all the respect that comes with it. She orders maids to double down on cleaning the courtyard, starts fielding menu options with the cooks (but what’s the harm in having one of everything?) and then sends scouts to go hunt when they tell her Zero’s assault has stopped imports of the food she wants.

Why did they stop? It’s not like she’s killing _them._ So far, she’s on a military-only diet.

And she’s going to walk right into a dead end. She’s heading into the coast where the only way across is up a cliff or across the ocean. There’s a shrine buried underneath the waves, only lifting like a drawbridge when the men on her side deem fit to let the Intoner cross. The staff talk about it around her like it’s an absolute blessing: finally, they have time to plan and recharge. Zero can’t swim all that way, and how would she know the direction to go?

But they’re forgetting something. Even if she hasn’t used it for transport so far, she has a _fucking_ dragon.

Small blessings, Five thinks, calming herself, though a part of her isn’t sure which is the blessing: the obstacle, or the easy way Zero can get over it.

Either way, not a reason to stop preparing.

Five is heading down into the gardens to make sure everything is in order when she sees her.

A tall girl, with long black hair. Boots up to her thighs that Five envies – what supple leather! She’s dallying near the wall, a huge paisley briefcase in hand.

She’s cute. But oh, those bug-eyed glasses. They’ve got to go.

Five is much taller, and a million times prettier, and not to mention the queen of this palace, so she’s very offended when the girl holds up a gloved hand to shut her up.

She says, “I know, I’m trespassing, I’m in a metric ton of hot water, I could use a better moisturizer. You’re Five?”

“That would be _Lady_ Five, my dear,” she spits.

“Everything’s right on track, then.” Five finally realises what the girl was doing: fitting little cylindrical bits of metal into a rectangular block with buttons on it. She smacks shut the compartment on the back and waves it absently at Five. “Had a bit of a messy landing. These high fences. Why bother? No fence can’t be jumped.”

“Tell me who you are,” Five snaps. “Or shall I just skip to dragging you out by the hair, if I can find a hank thick enough?”

Dismissive: “Accord. Don’t worry about me. I’m just observing. You’re the first sister she’s seen in a really long time. I wonder what makes you so special?”

“What in hell are you talking about?”

“Zero. Oh, jeez, you do know she’s coming, right?” Accord frowns, but it isn’t sympathetic. She’s going to get wrinkles from those creases between her brows. Even worse, she’s going to plague Five with the same ailment if she doesn’t leave right away.

“You said _first sister._ Is she going to see the others?” Five grits her teeth. Something ruffles its feathers inside her. “A big reunion?”

“Yep. You can warn them, I suppose.” Accord plays with the edge of her shiny diamond earring. “I don’t think it’ll make much difference in the end. You… _you_ won’t make much difference in the end.”

“I won’t?” She feels like this girl may as well have walked in and tried to tar and feather her. What does she mean, _won’t make a difference_? She’s already made a world of difference. She’s built _everything._ “I – if I wasn’t here, this kingdom would be rotting in its own shit! _Excuse_ me?” She snatches Accord’s collar in her claws. The girl doesn’t even flinch. “I’m an Intoner. I have made _all the difference._ ”

“Not from what I’ve seen. I mean, no offence. Don’t give up just because I said that. Fight hard, rah-rah.” Accord plucks herself out of Five’s grip, a strangely practiced motion. She says, tilting her head, “I can’t tell if this is all meant to be a comedy.”

Accord breezes under Five’s arm and scoops up her enormous briefcase. “I think I’ve said too much already. Pretend we didn’t even talk.” She smiles, eyes twinkling, and repeats airily, “I guess I wish you luck, though I know how this ends,” before skipping away.

Five calls for guards, but by the time they flood from the corners, Accord is gone.

**.menu.**

She’s been eating from the same ox for two days now. Somehow, the lugs in the kitchen have run out of sugar for her parfait breakfasts. Utensils and pots and pans are being swept away by the guard, melted down into bullets and cannon fodder. Zero’s clogged up the trade roads with corpses. But the shrine has stopped her. For now.

One morning, Five strolls into the armoury with Dito. Men hurry about, getting the last of their swords and shields. She knows her presence is a gift on its own. A shining light to instill confidence and a raging, hungry lust in her men. She’ll have them kiss her hands and bow at her feet and she’ll give them kind words, those little things she has plenty of that mean so much to them.

They’re gearing up, but it isn’t with enthusiasm. Faces turn to her and they ripple with the same pious light they always do. And yet something’s wrong.

This is all wrong, actually.

She’s getting a blade, fresh-forged, and slinking back into the castle. But she’s supposed to be atop a beautiful dragon of her own, scales bright and gleaming like the sea she saved. She’s supposed to be smiling at the gates of the fortress, gesturing her sister inside. All excited to give gifts: see here, Zero, your room, that looks out onto the shimmering sea? And here, Zero, your dining room that you’ll share with me, and its enormous table with bejewelled chairs like a real princess’s! Ask for anything and they’ll serve it: steaming duck, fluffing its feathers in thick, spiced juices; heaps of sticky-sweet fruits growing perfectly on the vine; flaky pastries and mouth-watering meats and wine that makes your blood sing. And here, oh, here! A true treasure trove of men and women, already desperate for you, already trained.

And here. Here _I_ am, Zero. Ready to give you anything you ask for. Ready to impress you, the way you’ve always impressed me.

See what I built?

She wraps the threads of those dreams tightly around her fingers, until they bite.

The buildings look over the cliff. While the royal smithy is drilling the last of the jewels on the hilt of her spear, Five looks out the wall-sized window, staring down at the long sheaf of sea, the broken rock walls and sandy beaches meeting like a seam in a dress. Dito leans on the sill.

The sea flashes with strange shadows. She wants celebration. Music. Wouldn’t it be nice, to play a rousing song as they march into battle? She probably can’t hire anyone to do music at this point. All the bards wear armour. How sad.

The shadows grow thicker, stranger. Dito lifts onto his toes. She asks, “Ohh, I wish we could go walking on the beach too, but – “

“No, shut up. Look at this.”

Five frowns. Makes her way to him. A despondent, slow, sow-like drag to her feet, the scuff of her shoes like something dead being dragged into the kitchens for dinner. Oh, how she wants something better for dinner.

She pets his hair. It’s soft, almost downy. She presses her thumb, idle, on the soft give of skin around his temple where the bone collapses. What a good gift he was for her. How nice it is to know she will always have something soft and good to hug when she needs to.

Then the first body washes up on the shore.

Five straightens. It’s a knight, the weight of water in his armour nearly dragging him back down.

Another, bobbing up beside her: his chest gapes open, metal torn like paper.

They watch, Dito bouncing on his toes, as the water hacks up body after body, and the sand runs black.

Dito says, “You can’t keep pouting with that here, can you? That’ll put a smile on any motherfucker’s face.”

“How…?” she whispers, and the wind is gusting through again, rattling inside her, bright and burning so suddenly she isn’t sure what word she’s searching for. What emotion. She says, “Zero is at the other shore. The corpses wouldn’t wash up here.”

Dito peers up at her through his eyelashes. “You’d think so, right? But turns out it’s pretty easy to convince your brainless men to lift that shrine.”

She grabs his shoulder and spins him around. The small of his back smacks the sill, but he doesn’t flinch. Five says, hoarse, “You…? _You_?”

Her own pet?

“I told you she sounded like a sweet deal,” he says, and shrugs.

She jerks him so the back of his head smacks the wall, and in the brief instant of him blinking back his vision, she rips, with the ghastly fingers of her song, into his head, and claws, and claws, deeper, past his conniving little brain into something animal and integral, and can’t stop, murmuring the dirge of _obey me._

_You won’t make much difference in the end._

No, Accord. Not when everything she made collapses around her. She sees, suddenly, far more men than this: clogged in valleys, strewn on cliffsides, tumbling into the sea.

Five built this.

She’s kind, and she’s good, and she built this. The castle and the halls and the food and the ocean and the sands and the village and the people and the pious and the hope and the love and the slaves and the slaughter and the _righteousness._

That fucking bitch _she_ built this it’s hers it’s hers it’s hers it’s **_mine!_**

Dito squirms out of her arms like the weasel he is. He darts away, making it all the way to the other side of the smithy before he staggers to a stop. He clutches his head, nearly doubling over. He hisses, “Stay the fuck _out_ ,” and his wicked little mind is one more thing that Zero says isn’t hers, one more slip of a blade to those threads. That hope. Sister One told her not to hope.

But…

“Dito,” she whispers, and wants to be kind, but can’t help it, her voice going sticky like caramel: “Come here. You have to come here.”

He does. Slow and untrusting, but he does. She cradles his head against her chest and sets her face in his hair. Presses her thumb in that little space again, where if she digs enough, there’s his brain. _That’s_ hers. Even if he acted against her.

 _Be grateful,_ a part of her begs. A little, whimpering part. _Zero’s here. Zero’s home._

_She’s not going to leave._

**.couture.**

She’s humming a song under her breath, which she knows is dangerous business.

Her songs start storms, stop hearts. She watches her throat move oh-so-slightly in the mirror, while girls fit the armour around her shoulders.

Armour. Not quite right for a dinner party.

Five’s lip curls in a smile. She wants Zero to be proud of her.

She wants Zero to change her mind.

She wants Zero to grow the fuck up.

The sisters all saved a kingdom, all on their own. Why couldn’t she? Why did she have to hunt them down like this? All those people on the beach. All those bodies in the valley. Dito, the way he looks at her now, finally with desire, but the sort of desire with which one looks at dinner when they’re really hoping for dessert after it.

_Fight hard, rah-rah._

They fit the last of the armour to her thighs, and bow away. Dito’s sitting on the bed, already strapped into his scabbard, playing with the little stuffed toy that dangles at the hilt. He says, “Bet everyone’s grateful you’re finally stepping up to the plate. What’s the best outcome here? You win, or you lose and Zero burns this sorry place to the ground, so no one’s gotta bother burying all their loved ones?”

She stares into the mirror. She’s wearing a top that cuts down past her navel, showing off a gaping glimmer of flesh like light pouring through the curtains. On a slow morning, a restful morning, where you eat breakfast in bed, and there is more than enough sin and sleep to go around.

Is Zero really going to take that from her?

She leaves the room, Dito trailing behind. Out to the sea and the sky.

She traces a finger down, down her skin. She can feel her heart all over. Pounding, steady but still feeling strange, like a metronome _thunk, thunk, thunk_ ing away to no song.

She wants Zero back, but when she fishes for who Zero is, she’s can’t find it. She feels like she’s wandering blind in the dark, trying to pin a memory, but breaks, instead, into that unwalked hall, all the windows shuddering, a storm outside, and the threads have frayed in her hands.

She holds tight. Tight. Zero. Big sister Zero. I want to teach you, I want to spoil you, Zero, if you’d given me the chance, Zero, Zero, Zero –

_Rose –_

Her heartbeat crashes, stutters. Pain veins through her. The last of the threads are cut away. Her hands just ache.

And there she is. Beneath them, sitting on her white-scaled dragon, the slow relaxed rock of its gait so strangely natural to her.

In her eye is a flower.

The pain grows, and sprouts vines and thorns and petals, and climbs up her throat around the words, “It’s been too long, Sister.”


End file.
